A lone burn barrel, flame blossoming within, sits in a dark abandoned alleyway. Well, would be an abandoned alleyway except for my intruding presence. I stand before the barrel, somber mood enveloping me, as a bag of adult diapers is firmly clutched in my hand at my waist. I slowly raise them up and drop them into the flames, grimacing as I watch them alight.
Such a good bit, wasted.
You get massacred by Mike, yet again, and the ONLY thing I’m left with, is a golden bit that gets ignored and trashed before it’s given a chance to gestate. I’m not saying it was my greatest idea, but sheesh, I could have at least ran it for a week or two. Now, all I have from that match is yet another loss to my record.
I feel like I should probably start caring about that. Maybe after this 8 month long vacation I can turn things around? Why does it feel like I’m covered in ring rust? I can’t help but feel this overwhelming sense of disappointment.
When I heard I was going up against the spawn of the great Jatt Starr, I have to admit, I was filled with joy. You see, I’ve recently binge watched the old HOTV network, and I’ve become a bit of a Starr-fanatic! I watched Jatt Starr beat Aceldama for the World Title on Turmoil. I was on my feet for the duo of Starr and one of my idols Max (Shell) Kael as they won the tag titles from Ascended Supremacy!
Let’s just say, when I saw my name across from Gilda Starr, I couldn’t wait to step in the ring! 22 month layoff or not, I was ready and anxious! The Bandits have been a tear recently. Winning* the LSD title. Winning* the Tag Titles. Getting a match against Zionwood for the 118th time! I mean, things are looking up for the eGG Carton!
But yet, I’m full of questions. Which is my lot in life. No matter what hand is dealt to me, I can’t stop myself from the myriad of questions. Here is my shot at Starrdom, but I ask myself, “How will I fare against the daughter of someone so impressive?” “Will she be as good as her father?” “Can she spin a yarn the same way as her illustrious Pappa?” “Clearly she has to come up with something better than ‘Bobby’s fat…’ Right?”
Cue the disappointment.
Bobby’s fat. Well, not really. Bobby has moobies. Let’s make him poop his pants!
I can’t help but chuckle, the twelve year old in me, imagining shitting my pants in the middle of the ring. I mean, come on, that’d be hilarious. Who knew the Starr family was so into the scat stuff!?! I mean, if Gilda wants a Cleveland Steamer so badly, who am I to disappoint? Maybe when I have her head in my tights I can give her a modified Dutch Oven?
Cancer told me I might want to change up my finisher for this one. He’s afraid I might be cancelled on Twitter. Forcing a woman’s head in my tights apparently is bad all of a sudden. Or was it Dooze who said that? I can’t remember, it’s been so long since this match was announced I almost forgot all about it.
It’s kind of funny. A week ago I was home, boarding up windows. Stocking my shelves with cans bone yard teeth and bottle of Sunkist. I was ready to face the wrath of Hurricane Laura. Then, like a typical woman, she decides the change her mind at the last second and go terrorize the neighbors instead. Now, I’m standing her in front of this barrel of fire and I can’t help but think, I’d rather get beat by a Hurricane, then get beat by a child who uses her father’s legacy to elevate herself to a status that she hasn’t earned.
But there is one question that I have yet to voice, that keeps running through my mind, over and over, and over again.
“Do you think I can get Jatt Starr’s autograph after the match?”